


Whiskey and Chocolate Cake

by BuckinghamAlice



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU - Comicverse, Superman - All Media Types, Superman/Batman (Comics)
Genre: Drinking & Talking, Friends to Lovers, Hidden Feelings, M/M, NSFW, New Relationship, Slash, creative uses for frosting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-23
Updated: 2013-05-23
Packaged: 2017-12-12 19:07:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/814973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuckinghamAlice/pseuds/BuckinghamAlice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When heartbroken Clark Kent indulges himself in drink, he turns to best friend Bruce Wayne, and long-hidden and ignored feelings come to light.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whiskey and Chocolate Cake

Bruce Wayne had seen a lot of things in his life as a socialite, wealthy businessman, respected citizen, and secret life as a nocturnal masked crime-fighter. His life was a string of memories of things he had seen – outlandish things, inappropriate things, silly things. But nothing he had seen –nothing – was quite as ridiculous as the spectacle playing out before him now in the study of his stately home. He was seeing something that perhaps no one else on earth ever had – Bruce’s best friend, Clark Kent (Superman, if you prefer) was drunk.

Bruce felt a little guilty enjoying Clark's antics so much... he knew Clark was not, under normal circumstances, a drinking man, yet here he was, loaded like a frat boy on a Saturday night. It would have been even funnier if it hadn't all come from a place of pain. Clark was dealing with a pain he had never felt before, and God forgive him, he had reacted like a normal man, consoling himself with a drink too many.

Clark was reeling from the fact that Lois had left him. She had hurt, betrayed, and humiliated him... and it stung, to say the least.

Clark had shown up earlier that evening, a few beers already in him. He had flown in uniform to the porch of Wayne Manor, in broad daylight no less. When Alfred answered the door, he was surprised to see Superman standing there as he was, but being a proper British butler, he didn't show it. "Good afternoon, Mr. Ke... Superman," Alfred had begun. "Is... is Master _Bruce_ expecting you, sir?" Superman wrinkled his nose apologetically as he politely stepped around Alfred into the large house. "Sorry to drop in this way, but I... is he here?" Alfred smelled the alcohol on his breath, saw the look in his eye and just knew something was amiss. "I'll let him know you're here," Alfred said, hurrying off to the study to retrieve the master of the manor.

Bruce had hurried down the hallway with the phrase "flew here, to the front door, in costume" replaying on a loop in his mind. He was already composing the measured but severe lecture he'd have to give Clark for this gaffe. He had never known him to be so sloppy, so careless. But when he saw him standing there in the entry hall, looking like a lost puppy, Bruce softened. The Kryptonian had that effect on him at times. In many ways, there was no one who could get the kind of reactions from Bruce (be they angry, sympathetic, happy, proud, et cetera) that Clark could. Bruce had to ignore the subtle irony of the fact that the most powerful being on the planet was standing there looking completely lost and helpless.

"Well, you look like hell," Bruce said evenly. "In the study." Clark silently followed him. Once the two men were in the grandiose study, Bruce motioned to a comfortable chair for Clark to sit, but he did not. "Can I get you something from the bar, then?" Bruce asked, maintaining his usual even tone and delivery. "I'd suggest a ginger ale or a club soda. We may even have some grenadine... I could probably manage a Shirley Temple if you're secure enough in your masculinity to ask me for one."

Clark crossed his arms protectively, defensively across his chest, covering the "S" symbol in an oddly vulnerable gesture that unsettled Bruce. "Could you make a gin and tonic?" Bruce forced a smile. "It's two ingredients... I may just be able to handle that." He poured two drinks, intending to drink the second himself. He wasn't fast enough -- Clark pounded his drink back and gingerly slipped the second glass out of Bruce's grasp. "Thank you," he said, pouring the bitter drink in his mouth.

Before Bruce could say anything else, Alfred came in and announced that dinner was ready, and that there was enough if Mr. Kent wished to join. "I think I'll be postponing tonight's dinner for a while, Alfred." The Englishman nodded curtly. "Of course, sir. I'll keep everything warm." Then, turning to Clark, he said, "I must admit that I'm surprised at _you_ , sir... I didn't imagine you were the type to drink and fly." Bruce stifled a snicker as Clark managed to retort, "This house is full of damned comedians."

Clark turned to the bar and poured himself another drink. Anyone could tell how foreign all of this was to him because he blindly grabbed the first bottle he could and splashed some in his empty glass without pausing to think what he was drinking.

"So do you want to tell me what this is about, or...?" Bruce began patiently, sitting in the chair he had offered Clark earlier. Clark sighed heavily, and after another drink, he told Bruce the whole sorry tale of the end of his marriage. Lois, it seemed, had fallen out of love with him. She still loved him, she had explained, but he felt more like a brother or a cousin now. She was tired of living a lie, she had said. Being with him had frankly become, "more trouble than it was worth," -- a phrase Clark couldn't repeat without taking another drink. She said he was still her best friend, and she hated to hurt him, but the fact was that there was someone else... she was seeing a Mr. Nail in the Marriage's Coffin and it was becoming serious. She'd give him as long as he needed to find a new place to stay... as long as it didn't take more than a couple of weeks.

Bruce sat silently listening to Clark spill his sorrows. He watched him drink. He let him feel all his feelings. He envied the fact that Clark could share them, and cherished the fact that he shared them with him.

When Clark had finally finished his story of failed love, he looked expectantly at Bruce. By now he had progressed to being quite tipsy, which was more intoxicated than he had ever been. Bruce was still silent, just watching Clark pace, drink, and complain. "Don't you have anything to say?" Clark asked, his voice a little weaker than it had just been. Silently, Bruce rose from his seat and walked slowly next to Clark, who was watching him intently, nervously. He stepped past his friend and up to the bar. Bruce poured two more drinks -- straight whiskeys -- and handed one to Clark. He clinked his glass against his friend's and simply said, "Drink up."

Clark sipped this one slowly, with his eyes closed. He wasn't completely in control of himself, and he didn't like the feeling. He had never felt quite like this before, and he wanted to conquer it. And it wasn't just the alcohol, because he knew that would pass. He wanted to conquer his feelings. He wanted to beat them. Wanted to live up to Bruce's example.

"Do you know," Clark began, "That Lois used to wash her pantyhose in our bathroom sink?" He set the glass down and opened his eyes. "She'd wash them and hang them over the top of the shower door. She had so many damned pair of pantyhose." Clark paced around to the back of the bar and picked up the bottle of whiskey. He carried it with him as he continued. "And she would always manage to smear lipstick on the bathroom mirror. I mean, how does that even happen?" He took a long swig straight out of the whiskey bottle. "And just last month, she asked me to get Chinese for dinner and got mad at me when I came home with Japanese. Bruce, is it my fault that the Chinese restaurant closed before I got off work? Is it?"

"No," Bruce said, trying to suppress a smile. He knew he should stop Clark from drinking, calm him down, but part of him really wanted to see where this would go. Before that evening, he had no idea that Kryptonians could even get drunk. Clark probably didn’t even know that much himself. To be fair, Clark wasn't yet completely plastered but had already had enough to alcohol to get most human men fairly well pissy, sloppy, drunk.

Clark kept telling himself to stop talking, stop making a fool of himself, but he couldn't. He found the bottom of the whiskey bottle. "I mean, I basically got friendzoned by my own wife. How much more pathetic can a guy get?" Clark paused to give Bruce a chance to jump in, but he didn't. "Do you know what I had to _go_ through to get that woman's attention in the first place?" he suddenly found himself demanding. "I let her humiliate me, treat me like something stuck to the bottom of her shoe for years, all so she could fall in love with _me_. Not him,” he said, motioning to the “S” emblem on his chest. “I had to sit there and listen to her compare sniveling little nothing _Clark_ to Superman... I mean... _you_ know what that's like. And then she finally saw me... all of me... and still, it wasn't enough. What more could I have done?"

Bruce rose again and stood right in front of his friend, close enough to feel even more heat than usual emanating from his alien body. Bruce gently placed his hand on Clark's shoulder. "She didn't deserve you," Bruce said softly. "She _never_ deserved you."

Clark's heartbeat was speeding up and he found himself biting his bottom lip, demurely, shyly. Imagine, suddenly feeling shy with _Bruce_ , the person who knew him better than anyone... even his own mother. Bruce was doing something he rarely ever did with Clark -- he was making eye contact, and Clark couldn't maintain it. He blushed and dropped his gaze to the floor, wishing to God that he hadn't drank so much so that maybe he could make sense of how he suddenly felt. But Bruce's eyes were still on him, burning a hole through him. Gently, he lifted his hand from Clark's shoulder and he backed up a step or two. But Clark stepped forward in time with him, moving like a magnet. They stood there like that, still and close but not touching, for what seemed like an eternity (but couldn't have been more than forty-five seconds). The moment was interrupted when, before either of them realized it, Alfred had come in to the study and announced that he had put dinner away and "Master Bruce" would need to re-warm it for himself when he was hungry.

"And Mr. Kent," Alfred said, standing in the doorway, "Please know that I do have your mother's telephone number and I _will_ call her if you and Master Bruce here continue this night of carousing." Bruce forced a chuckle. "He means it." Clark nodded. "I know he does. And she's already said that superpowered or not, I'll still get a whoopin' if I get out of line."

Bruce genuinely laughed at that. "That's precious. Truly." Then, once he had finished his hearty laugh and caught his breath, he asked Alfred to prepare one of the guest rooms for Clark. "Thanks," Clark said, turning to Alfred, who nodded and left. Then, turning back to Bruce, he repeated his thanks more quietly. "I mean, thanks for being here. For being... you, I guess."

Clark, still standing with the empty whiskey bottle in his hand, closed his eyes and slowly floated upwards. Bruce glanced up at him and smiled. Clark was drunker than he had realized. Clark hovered there like a big blue and red balloon, only far enough off the ground for his feet to be at Bruce's eye level. And like a child whose balloon was floating away, Bruce gently grabbed Clark's foot and pulled him back toward the ground with as little effort as if he had been full of helium.

"Bruce, you've done this before, haven't you?" Clark asked. Bruce had to grin. "What, floated? Or made a fool of myself at someone else's home?" Clark shook his head, not feeling as annoyed as he tried to sound. "Glad you're enjoying my pain so much."

Bruce shook his head with a slight eye roll. "Your pain isn't ever funny to me. That's not why I'm laughing. _You,_ however, are a pretty funny drunk. But what? What have I done before?" Clark tried not to smile. "Drink too much. Say too much." Bruce finally got Clark to sit down and took the empty bottle from his hand. "I have had a night or two when I drank too much, yes. And if a Kryptonian hangover is anything like a good old-fashioned human one, you'll live to regret this, just like I did. But as for _saying_ too much..." Clark laughed. "Not you. Never too much. Never enough." Bruce smirked. "Yes, I've been told as much on multiple occasions."

Clark got up again (much to Bruce's chagrin), and went back to the bar. He took up the rum bottle and took a few drinks from it, doing an awkward little dance as he did so. "Bruce?" Clark asked between sips. Bruce's eyes rose and met Clark's, and the two exchanged smiles. Warm, genuine smiles. The moment could have been awkward... should have been awkward, with Bruce's track record, but it wasn't. "I love you, Bruce," Clark said quietly, in the matter-of-fact way you'd have expected from the likes of Tim Drake. It wasn’t a drunken ,”I love you, man,” type drunk guy thing. He meant it.

And Bruce? Well, he wanted to take Clark in his arms, more so than he usually did. He wanted to say he loved him, too... maybe he had just begun to love him that evening, or maybe he always had... he didn't know anymore... but he loved him. He wanted to take all of Clark's pain -- the emotional pain, the physical pain, the hangover he'd probably have come morning... all of it. It was like a light switch had been flipped, finally allowing Bruce to see things clearly. There was Clark, the person who saw him and understood him... and Bruce wanted him, needed him like he had never wanted or needed any other person. But not now. Not like this. He told himself that he was respecting that Clark needed to mourn his marriage before he could move on. He said it wouldn't be right for anything to be said or done now, with Clark drunk, because that just wasn't right. He told himself everything but the truth -- that the intimacy that he _already_ shared with Clark scared him as it was... the possibility of deepening that relationship would be too intense. Too real. He was scared. He’d have rather faced the entire rogues gallery in his pajamas than open up to Clark in that moment.

So he simply smiled at Clark and said, "Go to bed or I _will_ have Alfred call your mother."

The Kryptonian smiled and floated up the stairs, too drunk to respect Alfred's "no flying in the house" rule. Bruce watched him go, envying him the fact that come the morning, he probably would not remember most of what was said and what went unsaid between them that night. But he could only allow himself a few moments to be lost in thoughts of Clark. He should be out on patrol by now.

 ________________________________________________________________________________________

  
When Clark woke up, he glanced around the room and was faced with three unfamiliar thoughts – one was that he was in bed stark naked (which was somewhat unusual for him), the second was that he had a splitting headache (his first ever headache that didn’t involve Kryptonite), and the last was that he had no bloody idea where he was.

He sat up in bed, glanced around the room and tried to remember what had happened the night before. The room looked vaguely familiar. It was large and lavishly decorated… so… was he at Wayne Manor? That was the only lavish place where he'd ever spent much time. He was answered a moment later when Bruce came in the room, carrying one of Alfred’s beautiful breakfast trays.

“Mornin', Yellow Sunshine,” Bruce said, sounding amused. “Alfred sent food. He said he didn’t want to reward your behavior, but he couldn’t let you starve.”

Clark rubbed his eyes and turned his head from the scent of the food. “I’m sure that’s delicious, but can you please get it out of here before I puke on this expensive bedspread.” Bruce smiled, took a piece of toast from the tray, and set it outside the door. "I'd wager he expected that reaction." Clark ran his hand through his hair. "You're probably right."

“I’m just gonna go ahead and apologize right now for whatever I did last night,” Clark continued. “I’m sure I made an ass of myself. I don’t know if it showed or not, but I don’t often drink, and especially not like that.”

Bruce finished munching the piece of toast and managed a smile at his friend. “It showed. But you weren’t so bad. You did what anyone would do… you got blasted and spilled your guts, then passed out in someone else’s bedroom.”

Clark flushed. “Oh, I’m sorry! This is _your_ room? I don’t even know how I got in here…” Bruce smiled. “I told you to go to bed, so you floated up the stairs, stripped naked and threw yourself down on my bed. All very innocent.”

“Well, I’m still sorry,” Clark said, trying to turn his face to hide his blush. “That’s probably one of the most ridiculous things I’ve ever done.” And Bruce laughed. Clark’s demure embarrassment amused him to no end, and he could hardly hide it. “See, Clark, most of us go through this drunk and stupid phase when we’re in high school or college… watching you of all people…”

Clark interrupted, grousing. “Yeah, yeah. Me of all people. I know. I’m supposed to take everything in stride, be more mature, perfect. I shouldn’t get into spots like this, so it’s funny.” Bruce shook his head, still laughing. “Don’t be that way. It _is_ funny because it’s you. But not because you’re _Superman_ …. Because you’re well behaved Clark Kent. And goodness knows _I_ never said you were mature or perfect, because I know better on both accounts.”

Clark rolled his eyes. “I guess I’m on edge this morning. Sorry. I didn’t mean to be an ass, and I certainly didn’t mean to take advantage of you. Your hospitality, I mean.” Bruce came and sat on the edge of his bed and a strange expression crossed his face. Clark couldn’t read it, and that gave him an odd feeling in his stomach. “No apologies necessary. Really. And the same goes for thanks. I was glad to be here. You needed someone to stop you from floating all the way up to the ceiling.”

Clark gave his friend a sideways smile. “Oh, hey,” he began, “Do you mind if I borrow something to wear? Can’t really go out in that,” he said, pointing to the Superman suit on the floor. Bruce nodded and motioned to his walk-in closet. “You’re welcome to whatever fits.”

Clark began to get out of the bed before blushing yet again. He pulled the blanket up a tad higher. “Would you mind stepping out or turning around or something? I’m… pretty uncovered here.” Bruce snorted a laugh. “It’s not as if I haven’t seen you naked before, Clark.”

Clark’s jaw dropped. “You haven’t seen me naked! Have you seen me…? When was I…? What?” Bruce laughed heartily. Clark was miffed that Bruce had had about as many belly laughs as he had had embarrassing, blush worthy moments. This was not his proudest morning. Bruce smirked at Clark’s shocked face. “Well, for starters, I saw you last night when I got home from patrol and planned to sleep in my bed but found you naked and spread-eagled on it. I mean, who did you think put the blanket over you, Clark? I thought you deserved a shred of dignity.” He paused to laugh. “But just a small shred.”

Shaking his head and resigning to this reality where Bruce had enough ammunition to continue making fun of him for years to come, Clark got out of bed, naked as the day he was born and strode over to the closet. “Ladies and gentlemen, Superman,” he said with a smirk as Bruce’s gaze followed him. “Seems I’m invulnerable to everything _but_ the walk of shame.” Bruce snickered as he waited for Clark to emerge from the walk-in closet in one of his suits, which didn’t quite fit Clark’s larger frame.

Taking in the too short pants and the too tight jacket, “Good look for you, Kent,” Bruce said, choking back a laugh. Clark picked up one of his red boots and lobbed it at Bruce, missing on purpose. “I hate you, Wayne.” Bruce gave Clark a smirk. “So you say, Kent. So you say.”

Bruce turned and checked his face for stubble in the mirror. “Listen, I’ve got meetings all morning and afternoon. You’re welcome to stay here if you want to add skipping work to your list of post-juvenile delinquencies, or you can come back this evening to stay over again... if you’d rather not deal with Ms. Lane.”

Clark had crept up silently behind Bruce. He tapped him on his shoulder and when Bruce turned to face him, he smiled. “I know you said no thank yous, but seriously, thank you.” Then, reaching up to straighten Bruce’s tie, he added, “I hope you know this tie doesn’t match anything else you’re wearing. But… it works on you.” Bruce tried to smile, but he couldn’t get the embarrassed look off of his face. It wasn’t quite Clark Kent’s patented blush, but it was an unusual expression for him. He hadn’t expected Clark to get so close to him and touch him. He was still struggling (albeit in vain) to push aside the feelings that had come to his surface the night before, and this… this closeness… it was too difficult to concentrate. Something about the look on Clark’s face surprised him and turned him on.

Bruce gently grabbed the collar on Clark’s borrowed suit and for a minute he thought he might pull his friend into him for a long-awaited kiss. For a minute Clark thought the same thing, and he was rather surprised by how welcome he felt that kiss would be. Looking into Bruce’s beautiful, deep blue eyes, he thought about all the times he had felt an attraction to the man in front of him, and how many times he had fought it because that would be the “right thing to do.” But circumstances were different now. Maybe everything could be different now…

Clark opened his mouth to say something (though he was not sure what), but before he had a chance to embarrass himself, the door came open, and Alfred stood there, actually looking a tad surprised for the first time since Clark had known him. “Oh, I beg your pardon, sirs,” Alfred muttered. “I didn’t realize you were both still in here. I was simply planning to make the bed and collect the laundry.”

“It’s fine, Alfred,” Bruce began, smoothing Clark’s collar gently and then letting him go. The two men shared a small sigh that only Clark would have been able to hear.

Clark and Bruce walked out of Bruce’s bedroom and down the grand staircase in silence. Finally, as they reached the front door, Clark said, “I think I’ll head back to Metropolis. As much as I’d love to skip work, I really should make an appearance. I have a deadline I’ll just be able to make if I type really, _really_ fast.”

“You’ll manage,” Bruce said with a smile. “Now go on. Take your flight of shame. It’s happened to the best of us.” Clark smirked. “If only I was dressed for it.”

________________________________________________________________________________________

 

Bruce was in uniform in the Batcave that evening when Clark, as Superman, returned. Bruce was at the super computer that Clark still thought looked like something out of a sci-fi movie, cross-referencing some gang members Tim had reported busting up the night before with his database of known offenders.

“Back to business, I see,” Clark said. Bruce didn’t miss a beat or even look up from his work. “Well, someone has to be serious around here. We don’t all have the time for benders in our schedule.”

Clark, who was much more willing to accept Bruce’s teasing now that he had had some time to think of how silly he must have looked and acted the night before, laughed good naturedly. “Yes, well, I didn’t exactly schedule that bender, but you know… you make time for what really matters.”

“So I’m told,” Bruce replied with a smile.

The two fell into a comfortable silence. Batman continued to work where he was, and Clark eventually got into a conversation with Tim (who had finished his homework and come done to the Batcave shortly after Clark’s arrival) about the fairness of the Three Strike Law, and whether or not Gotham would benefit from adopting it.

Soon, Bruce sent Tim on patrol and said he would meet up with him after his dinner date that evening. Something he couldn’t get out of, he had said. Clark couldn’t help but feel the tiniest pang of jealousy at the word “date,” but he chided himself on it. It was more than a little ridiculous and petty, and he knew he had no right to feel that way. But realizing the feeling was silly and being able to control the feeling were two different things, and Clark would still have to work on the control part.

As Bruce prepared to leave the Batcave, he turned back to Clark, who was still standing on the spot where he had been talking to Tim moments before, and asked, “Well, are you coming?”

Clark turned to Bruce and arched an eyebrow. “Are you… do you want me to?” Bruce gave him a curious expression and sighed. “Oh, I thought I had already extended the invitation to you. You’re welcome to join me if you want, and frankly, I could really use you there.” Now Clark was confused. Why should he need him there? “What _is_ this date again?”

“Dinner with Dick and Babs,” Bruce said, forcing a smile.

Dick and Babs were already in the dining room when Bruce and Clark came up from the batcave. After they had all greeted one another and took their seats at the dining room table, Clark could see right away why Bruce said he could use him there. Dick and Babs both had an agenda – asking, almost begging, their mentor to take some time to himself and relax. “The city will be fine in everyone else’s hands,” Dick reasoned. “Why have you been training all of us for all these years if not for this? You’re wearing yourself so thin, and that means a lot coming from me.”

“Besides,” Babs added, “wasn’t it you that said a well-rested crime fighter is an effective crime fighter?” Clark smirked at his friend and Dick laughed. Bruce rolled his eyes. “I’ve certainly never said any drivel like that in my life!”

“Hah!” Dick exclaimed. “I heard that every damn night at bed time up until my high school graduation!”

Everyone erupted in laughter except Bruce. He finally sighed and laughed along with his friends and fellow crime-fighters and had to admit, these moments when they all let go were priceless.

Alfred served them all a beautiful meal and they continued their friendly conversation over dinner, though Dick and Babs wasted no opportunities to point out to Bruce how much good a little break, even just one night off, might do him.

As Clark assumed, Bruce couldn’t resist telling Dick and Babs all about Clark’s drunkenness the night before. They both laughed and laughed, and Babs laughed so hard that her sides hurt. Dick immediately stopped laughing and tenderly took Babs’ hand. “Are you okay?” he whispered. She tried to laugh it off, but Dick’s worried eyes wouldn’t leave her. Barbara had always been able to take care of herself, but Dick had always felt protective of her, and probably always would. And though the strong, independent Miss Gordon protested, the tender looks she returned to Dick’s worried stare betrayed the fact that she was happy to have his concern and grateful to have someone who understood her the way Dick did. They communicated more in that one exchanged glance than they had all night in words.

They left before dessert because they both had work to do. Bruce was almost able to resist the temptation to tell them as they were leaving that he hoped they both got plenty of rest themselves. Almost. Clark shook his head and laughed to himself at his friend, but he did enjoy seeing him being jovial and free. The dinner dishes had been cleared, but Bruce and Clark lingered in the dining room, sitting at the beautiful table and sneakily looking at one another through the mood-setting candlelight.

“You know, Alfred will be disappointed if we don’t have dessert,” Bruce said, once he and Clark had exhausted all their favorite conversational subjects. Knowing that there was to be company for dinner, Alfred had baked a big, round, three-layer dark chocolate cake with mocha frosting and raspberry crème filling. At Bruce’s request, the butler brought the entire cake in, raised an eyebrow at Bruce and left. Clark laughed awkwardly. “Was that the ‘don’t let the alien eat all the cake’ face?”

“Something like that,” Bruce said with a nod. He used the cake slicer Alfred had left and served them each a piece of the decadent confection that Alfred had made (with Dick’s appetite in mind).

Thinking about Dick and Babs, Clark smiled. “Do you think they know they’re in love?” Bruce set his fork down and neatly folded his hands in front of him, most of his cake uneaten. “You don’t always know.” A skeptical look crossed Clark’s face. “How could a person _not_ know?”

“And I suppose you’re some sort of expert on being in love?” Bruce asked, perhaps a bit more bitterly than he had intended. Bruce had spoken without thinking, and regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. Hurt flashed through Clark’s eyes, and Bruce realized what he had said must have sounded like a dig at him about the situation with Lois. Bruce wanted to apologize, but could only grunt, “You know what I mean.” And Clark nodded.

Clark ate the rest of his cake in silence, noticing that now that they were alone, the candles that had been lit at the start of dinner and the beauty of the china they were using all felt very… formal. And romantic.

Without thinking, Clark said, “It actually kind of feels like this is a date.” Bruce’s eyes widened and a bit of color rushed to his cheeks. “Would that be so bad?”

A smile danced across Clark’s lips. “I suppose not. It might actually be… almost perfect.” Bruce raised his eyebrows. “Almost?” Clark grinned now. “I just wouldn’t want our first date to be a double date.”

“You know, Clark,” Bruce began, “It isn’t easy for me to say this sort of thing, but I feel like I almost have to say what I'm thinking… because I think you already know. You just know me so well you usually know what I’m thinking.” Bruce hesitated. “You understand me, and I think I understand you. That could be a fine foundation for…” Bruce’s voice trailed off, and he couldn’t make eye contact with Clark. _God, why was this so hard?_

But Clark did understand, just like Bruce knew he would. “Something more,” he supplied to finish the thought Bruce had shied away from voicing. Clark smiled. “Nobody knows me like you… nobody understands me like you. And nobody else has ever seen me at my worst, not like you have. And even if they had, they wouldn’t still be here like you are.”

“You know how hard it is to scare me,” Bruce said. “But this feeling scares me. This vulnerability. I’ve never felt this way before.”

Clark reached his hand across the table and gently touched Bruce’s folded hands. The touch sent an electric current down each of their bodies. “I hope you know that you have come to mean so much to me,” Clark said. “I mean, you always have been important to me, but I honestly can’t imagine how I’d have handled these past two days without you.” Bruce took Clark’s hand and the heat between them intensified. “We’ve shared every part of our lives but this – the most intimate part. And I’d be lying if I said it hadn’t been in the back of my mind for years…”

“And it’s been all I can think about for the past couple of days,” Bruce growled. Clark’s body tensed and Bruce gently slipped his hand out of Clark’s. But instead of neatly folding his hands in front of him again, he ran one finger through the mocha frosting of the piece of cake before him and extended the finger in Clark’s direction. Without hesitation, Clark leaned across the table and licked the frosting off the tip of his friend’s finger. After he had finished that, he slowly licked his way up Bruce’s finger, the back of his hand and to his wrist. He kissed the veins there and felt Bruce’s pulse in his lips. It drove him wild.

But Bruce pulled his hand away and broke the eye contact they had just reestablished. Clark’s cheek’s flushed from embarrassment. If there was a line, surely he had just crossed it… and ruined everything. Friendship and all.

“I’m sorry, I…” Clark began to stammer, but Bruce shook his head to hush him. “If we’re going to do this,” he started quietly, “Then you have to be sure. You have to be all in. It can’t just be an experiment because you’re on the rebound… Because we can’t jeopardize everything we’ve built for you to decide tomorrow that this wasn’t what you wanted.”

Clark shook his head. “I know what I want, and I know what I’m doing. This makes sense.” He reached back across the table for Bruce’s hand. “And now that we’ve opened the door to ‘us,’ I can’t imagine ever closing it again.” In response to this, Bruce ran another finger through the cake’s mocha icing and offered it to Clark, who sucked it clean, licked it up and down, and sucked it a little more. A small moan escaped Bruce, who gripped the edge of the table with all his might. After waiting so long for Clark, even this was enough to make Bruce feel like he could lose control, just that quickly. “If that’s any indication of what I have coming to me, I’m just sorry we waited this long,” Bruce managed to choke out. Clark smiled. “Anywhere else you’d like me to use my special frosting removal power?” Bruce rubbed a big dab of frosting on his lips and looked at Clark in a way that was both suggestive and a dare to meet his challenge.

Clark was in front of Bruce so quickly, he wasn’t sure if he had gone under the table, flown over it, or sped around it. Bruce was aroused at the simple sight of him sitting there, hovering cross-legged in front of him, looking like some cross between a curious child and a god on earth. Bruce could see now that Clark was as nervous and aroused as he himself was, and he wanted to grab the man, kiss him and hold him, but he held back. He wanted Clark to make this move.

And he did. Before Bruce even had a chance to touch Clark, the man was licking his lip enticingly, removing the frosting and threatening to probe into his mouth. Clark sighed against Bruce’s mouth, and finally he seized Bruce’s mouth with a kiss, soft and gentle. But Bruce didn’t want gentle. He reached up ever so slightly to put his arms around Clark’s neck and his tongue found its way into Clark’s mouth. The kisses were enough to make Bruce dizzy. Slowly, Clark drifted down onto Bruce’s lap and straddled him. Bruce kissed Clark’s strong neck and grabbed onto his thick black hair and felt grateful that his partner was so indestructible, for the sheer force he was using would have hurt anyone else.

Clark placed his hands on Bruce’s hips, held onto him hard but made sure to be careful not to use too much of his strength. He wouldn’t add another bruise or scar to that beautiful body if it could be helped. They started to grind up against each other, and simply feeling Clark’s erection made Bruce's cock twitch slightly within the confines of his clothing and me him feel like he was going to go over the edge. They were both breathing heavily, raggedly, and every now and then Clark would let loose a small, quick cry of joy, and Bruce had to try and think of something completely unsexy to hold back, but all he could think of was having Clark fuck him right there, right that minute.

Bruce untangled his hands from Clark’s hair and ran his fingers down his back and up his sides as Clark shivered under his touch. Bruce realized then that Clark was trying to hold back, too. Clark wanted this as badly as he did, and they both wanted it to last as long as possible. Bruce’s hands craved Clark’s body, though, so he couldn’t resist pulling his shirt open, forgetting all about the buttons, and running his hands over the smooth, beautiful muscles that he had been longing to touch.

“Oh, God, Bruce,” Clark sighed, reaching his hand down to rub Bruce’s crotch. They continued to kiss as Bruce dug his fingers into Clark’s hips. Hands trembling, Clark grabbed for the zipper of Bruce’s pants and reached in, his fingers barely making contact with Bruce’s erect cock. Clark pulled Bruce’s hard shaft out of his pants and ran his fingers up and down it a few times, teasing the tip of the head with his thumb. He felt a drop of precome and couldn’t resist giving the shaft a few quick tugs, making Bruce writhe and moan. A split second later, Clark was on his knees before Bruce, grasping his cock and glancing up at him looking every bit as demure as a kitten and as seductive as a siren.

“I want to taste you,” Clark said, in a tone that almost sounded like begging. “Yeah, you want me in your mouth?” Bruce asked breathily. Clark responded by licking first the head of Bruce’s cock, then once down the shaft. Gently he kissed the sensitive skin of Bruce’s balls as Bruce gripped his shoulder. Before Bruce realized what was happening, Clark moved from the balls and swallowed Bruce’s whole sizeable cock in one motion. “Clark, oh, fuck!” Bruce moaned. As Clark sucked him off, he massaged his balls with one hand, and used the other to liberate his own cock from his pants and began to tug at himself at an impressive speed. Bruce started to thrust himself into Clark’s mouth, causing the Kryptonian to moan against his dick.

Just as Bruce felt like he was just seconds or even fractions of a second from coming, Clark stopped for a moment to pull Bruce’s pants and underwear off. “I can’t take it anymore,” Bruce managed to say. “Fuck me. I need you to fuck me.”

Still on his knees, Clark stretched up and kissed Bruce gently. “Is that what you want?” he cooed. Bruce could only manage a nod. With another kiss, Clark wrapped his arms around the smaller man’s waist and gently pulled him out of his chair, and in one swift motion, Clark laid back on the ground with Bruce on top of him. Clark pulled his own pants down to his ankles and moved his erect cock near Bruce’s ass crack. Clark held onto Bruce’s hips, thrust himself upwards once or twice, moving his shaft down the length of Bruce’s crack. They both grunted and moaned, finally breaking down the walls they had both carefully maintained for years. “Fuck me, Clark,” Bruce begged. “Please, fuck me.” Neither of them could wait another moment. Clark slid his erection slowly and gently into Bruce’s tight hole and Bruce gave an almost inaudible little cry of pain.

Clark stopped at once, less than half of his length in Bruce. He wouldn’t hurt him, even if it meant they had to stop now. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “Did I hurt you? Is this too much?” Bruce shook his head desperately. “No. I can take it. Keep going.” And before Clark could decide to play it too gently, Bruce shifted his weight and sat all the way down on Clark’s cock, taking the whole length of him inside his body. “Oh, God, that’s amazing,” Bruce moaned at the same as Clark sighed, “Fuck, it’s so tight. Feels so good.” Bruce rode Clark’s cock, impaling himself as hard as he could, moaning with each movement. “Hurts so good, huh?” Clark demanded, running his hand across Bruce’s backside and down his thighs. “Fuck, yes,” Bruce answered as Clark gave his ass a smack.

Clark began to thrust into Bruce, who was almost doubled over, his hands pressing into Clark’s bare chest. Clark began to slide his hands under Bruce’s shirt and rubbed his abdomen and chest. He desperately tried to undo the buttons… he needed Bruce naked. Bruce straightened up a bit, Clark still inside him, and pulled his shirt off. He started to pull the tie off with it, but Clark stopped him. “Leave the tie.” Clark’s hands roamed over muscles and little scars and tried to memorize every inch of Bruce’s body.

Once he had Bruce naked, Clark suddenly flipped the two of them over, still connected. Bruce was on his back, and Clark was on his knees before him, pounding Bruce as hard as he dared. Bruce’s legs were in the air, giving Clark the perfect vantage point to see his toes curl. Clark grabbed Bruce’s tie with both hands, the same one he had straightened that morning, and used it to pull his lover even closer and push himself even deeper. Bruce could take it no longer. He reached down and started tugging his cock, and Clark let go of the tie to use one hand to hold onto one of Bruce’s legs and the other to jerk him off. “Oh fuck, oh fuck. Oh God, I’m gonna come,” Bruce moaned, his voice in a higher pitch than Clark had ever heard it. Their hands moved in perfect unison on Bruce’s cock. “Oh fuuuck, oh God! Ooooh, Clark!” And as Bruce shouted Clark’s name, he came all over his own stomach – a burst of pure energy. Clark bent over him and licked the ejaculate off of Bruce’s stomach as he continued to fuck him, coming closer to his own climax.

Clark lifted Bruce’s ass up off the ground just enough to change the pace, and Bruce wrapped his legs around Clark’s waist. Clark’s thrusts quickened to the point that Bruce could no longer see distinct movements and it felt like Clark was vibrating within him. Clark’s moaning, quick grunts, and panting breaths gave way to him saying, “Oh, I’m gonna come. I’m coming for you. Oh, Bruce, oh fuck!” Clark came inside Bruce, and it felt amazing to both of them. Clark leaned down to kiss Bruce gently. He was still inside him and neither of them were quite ready to let go. As Clark finally began to soften, he removed himself reluctantly from Bruce, knowing full well that from now on, he’d just be passing time between encounters with Bruce, because nothing else life could offer him would ever be as good as that sex had just been.

Soon, silently, Clark stretched out on the ground next to Bruce, who had a curious expression on his face. Clark rested his head near Bruce’s heart, and Bruce put his arm around him and absentmindedly ran his finger up and down his arm. “What are you thinking?” Clark asked, immediately hoping that that didn’t sound as silly out loud as it sounded in his head.

“Well,” Bruce began, “I was just thinking that since this house is so big and you need a new place, why don’t you move in here?” He hesitated when he realized that Clark was silently staring at him. “Unless that’s too much way too fast and I just put my foot in my mouth.” Clark smiled. “You’d really like me to move in here? You wouldn’t get sick of me?”

Bruce smiled back, relieved to see Clark’s face look happy rather than scared. “Truth be told, I was thinking about asking you even before this just happened… but that sort of sealed the deal. And as for getting sick of you? Not possible.”

Clark smiled. He could have his things there in a matter of minutes… as soon as he was ready to part from Bruce, which he couldn’t imagine he would be for quite some time. “Bruce?” he began. “I… I love you.” Silence. Clark didn’t really expect Bruce to say it back… he didn’t have to. Clark knew how they both felt now. But at the same time, he would have given anything to hear it.

“I’m not good with feelings,” Bruce said, stating the obvious. “I never have been. I’ve always said I would work on that, so when the right person came along, I wouldn’t be this distant figure who pushes people away. It can't be like that anymore. Not with you. So I want you to know that it still scares me to be with someone who knows me as well as you do, but at the same time, I guess I could only ever be really serious about someone who has all my secrets. And you make me feel things I’ve never felt… good things. But I’m a little reluctant to say that I love you because it doesn’t seem like enough. It’s an understatement. I... need you.” And Clark felt like his heart might have skipped a beat... that was better than an "I love you." It was better than he had even dreamed. And it was probably even harder for Bruce to admit _that_ than an admission of love would have been.

“The things you say,” Clark said with a blush as Bruce tipped his head down to kiss him. Clark's blushing was at once endearing and sexy to Bruce, so he began to imagine what else he could say to get him red all over. But before they could start anything up again (which was an appealing prospect to the both of them), Bruce’s phone buzzed. “Oh,” he sighed. “That’ll probably be Tim wondering why I’m not on patrol.” He groped around on the ground for his pants, found his phone in the pocket and read the text message he had received. Clark was surprised when Bruce laughed happily at what he read.

“It’s from Alfred,” Bruce said. Clark laughed once and raised an eyebrow. “Alfred texts?” Bruce shook his head and laughed again. “Only when he has no other options, which I guess he felt he didn’t in this case. Get this. ‘Duty only goes so far, sir. You and Master Clark may clean the dining room yourselves.’”

The corner of Clark's mouth curved into a sly smile. " _Master_ Clark. Did he know what you had in mind?" Bruce smiled. "He knew I wanted to ask you to move in. I _hope_ he didn't know about the rest of it, but judging by the tone of this message, he saw that move coming as well." Clark sat up and ran his finger through the delicious mocha frosting and offered it to Bruce, who gently licked it clean. "Alfred's always a step ahead of you." Bruce smiled and nodded, too happy to say anything.

After a few more minutes of basking in the afterglow, Bruce stood, beautifully naked save the tie Clark had almost shredded and offered a hand to Clark. When Clark stood before him, Bruce was overwhelmed with the desire to relive their entire encounter, starting with the cake frosting. But instead, he simply said, "What do you say we hit the showers and then go to bed?"

Clark grinned mischievously. "How about we skip the shower and go straight to bed?" Bruce wrapped his arms around Clark's waist and said, "That sounds even better." They shared a quick kiss before Bruce gathered their discarded clothes and Clark took the cake and dessert dishes to the kitchen. Clark smiled to himself as he decided to fly up the stairs and be waiting for Bruce in his bed when he got there. Dick and Babs would be happy to know that the Batman was taking a night off, though if Clark had anything to say about it, he wouldn't be getting much rest.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm no expert on the DCU and this story doesn't fit into any specific continuity besides my own head canon. Most people would agree that Kryptonians probably can't get drunk, but I imagined that maybe they could, although with much more alcohol than a human could stand. This is my first fanfic in the DCU and thus my first time writing any of these characters. I'm eager to hear opinions on the piece so far because I'm currently working on something of a sequel. Thanks for reading!


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